Kindred
by TheFairySylvia
Summary: One night Raphael ponders his life as he keeps his promise to his beloved Amy. Through his mad thoughts he comes to a realization that perhaps what he believes is right for his daughter may be what binds them together, and what ultimately destroys them.


He watches her sleep. She is a bundle of joy and dainty, red curls, slumbering peacefully and snugly within the soft, plushy bed sheets. Only the finest of materials for her, his sweet little girl. A satisfied smile almost sneaks across his earnest features but he quickly dismisses it, not wanting to loose his poise. Rising to his feet, where which he was seated by her bedside, he strolls over to the large open window adorned with silky crimson curtains and, brushing past them, the gentle night breeze greeting his face, steps out into the balcony and gazes at the gigantic full moon hovering above. It is a pleasant night.

All is quiet in the outskirts of the far-off village, the mountains stand tall and powerful, and he takes in the fresh autumn air. Yes, Raphael Sorel feels quite…calm and eager. But he does not take action, no, not tonight. Tonight he shall fulfill a promise to his young daughter. The child he took in as his own, protected her from the world and sheltered her within his own twisted world. But his views on his world are just, safe and proper…for _her_. Little Amy now sleeps, thinking not of her worries and doubts. She has many of them, but she is so young, yet she fights and learns like an angel. She is graceful in battle, her father teaching her all she must know and at the same time adapting and creating her own unique, dance-like moves. She wishes her father would always stay in the castle with her and never stray away, fearing for him and his world.

Her despondent feelings, her pessimism…It all went away as soon as she succumbed to slumber. Perhaps that is why Raphael remains with her, perhaps that is why she seemed happier in the depths of sleep.

Raphael is a man of refined dignity, so he often scolds his daughter. She seems not to mind, but seems to care deeply of his actions and ambitions instead. When she was much younger, life in the castle was much more different. He appeared an untried parent, but nonetheless he offered only the best for Amy, and she was so little, so petite and fearful. She would often cry, and he would be there to comfort and soothe her. She is his only family in the world.

But it was certainly not their world.

It has yet to be born, and Raphael will see to its creation.

He is terribly eager to head off into the wood and immerse himself in the bloodbath of war-torn battles, and deep within his veins courses the evil energy that drives him yet robs him of his sanity. This does not falter him, he cannot go now. The entity which beckons him…the angelic yet immoral voice of Soul Calibur calls for him ceaselessly…though this is only his mind conjuring the hallucinations. He feels deprived of sustenance…but when he takes one look at his little girl, basking in the warmth of darkness, his hand scrambles to his red shining eyes and with all his might represses his desire to sate his hunger…for power. It overwhelms him, his lifeless heart threatening to implode within his chest. He grunts, holding onto the railing for support. A moan, a poor and helpless sigh suddenly escapes Amy and she too begins to writhe in discomfort.

This alone angers him. Her face reddens, her brow furrows in silent desperation. Only when he regains control of the evil blood within him does she finally calm down, and tears travel down her porcelain cheeks. He strides over to her side, his breathing labored. A howl from the wilderness pierces the silence of the night, ringing in his ears. Her eyes, red and vibrant just like his, open and meet his forlorn gaze. She appears a distraught, lost creature.

"Papa…," whispered she, her voice small and austere. "Papa, you're hurting, aren't you?"

"Hush, Amy, go back to sleep. I shall remain with you…here, for as long as you need me," assured he.

"But papa," the girl continued, "it's back again, isn't it? I feel it…all over me."

"Nonsense. Speak not another word of the matter and rest now. I shall have our servants prepare us a fine meal in the morning." The room was shrouded in silence for a moment.

"I…I'm not afraid of it anymore, papa. You've made it feel better." Those words…She would never _ever_ understand how much they killed him deep down. "It feels almost warm, like a hug now. Is this how its power feels? Is that why you seek it so?"

"Amy…please." He could not say. Raphael was not sure as to what to make of these wretched feelings bubbling within the dark pools of his mind. A wave of despair splashes over his features. All was serene now. All was quiet and still once more…but he knows all too well what has happened in the course of their lives together.

No longer does she dread the infection…but now _welcomes_ it. It nourishes her and gives her life. Yes, it is the sway of the accursed sword Soul Edge; he realizes this and just as her tears continue flowing down her cheeks he almost feels his own devouring his eyes until naught but the hollow sockets remain in their place. His orbs merely glisten, and once again his features are cold and ominous. He does not stray, not this time, regardless of his unrelenting desires pestering him, and she feels very selfish, keeping the deranged man she calls her father all to herself, but she cares not, for she truly believes he belongs to her just as she belongs to him. He is all the family she could ever want.

And so tenderly they wither, silently they cry. Though their bodies beautiful and flawless, the two creatures, the minions and vessels of death, in both heart and soul they are _hideous. _


End file.
